


Daydream

by kakaitalover



Series: Dreams [3]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Platonic And Indirect Involvement Of A Child, Vibrator, Written Directions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakaitalover/pseuds/kakaitalover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did anyone wonder just what did happen with the vibrator alluded to previously? Well now it's a noodle incident no more!</p><p>Or, it's John's turn to fuck up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

**Author's Note:**

> This happens BEFORE the events in Dream Police!
> 
> Originally titled The Alchemist's Dream of Violet Flame. [Daydream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwH4wPz-URM) is by the Lovin' Spoonful.  
> Chapter title from Disney's long-ago [Cinderella](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBVqWSWPxlg). I know, I know, but I thought it was funny.

The knock came at eight o'clock, just as John finished preparing his briefcase for the day. On the other side of the door was a red-faced, puffing man John vaguely recognized as being from the lower tiers of his organization.

“Mr. Jeffreys. Is something wrong?”

“Got a package for you, sir, from the wizard.”

John accepted the plain brown-papered box with equanimity, offering the man his water bottle. “Did Mr Dresden say what was in it?”

Jeffreys shook his head, sucking the water down greedily. “Just pulled it out of a circle and said to make sure you got it before you left for work. Said the timing was important.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Jeffreys, I'll make sure you're compensated for the rush.”

Jeffreys nodded his thanks and set off again for the driveway.

John set the mysterious package on a nearby table and opened the note that came with it.

_“Hey, scumbag."_ Yes, it was certainly from Harry. Credentials established, it continued: 

_"Our dinner plans got a bit derailed last night. Want to make up for it this morning?_

_Here's a present I want you to put in before you go to work. Use as much lube as you like, but clean up after. I want you to wear some of your silk boxers with this, too. I'm told this model comes with a matching cock-ring; leave it in the packaging. You're going to do this under your own power._

_It should be turned on already, so once you have it secured just head to the office. Here's the rules:_

_You may not remove it without my explicit permission._

_You may not come unless and until I tell you that you may._

_You may not touch yourself unless and until I tell you to._

_Doesn't sound too hard, does it? If you need me, I'll be babysitting at the Carpenters' – I know you know the number._

_Have fun, sweetie!_

No signature, of course, and John scrupulously erased every trace of script by his lover's own hand with aid from the matchbox behind the nearest candle. 

Then he grinned a little. He'd been slightly chagrined when he got off the phone to find that Harry had already left, and worried that he might be miffed, but the meeting today was extremely important to the deal he had lined up with the Westborough-India Co. and he'd perhaps gone a little overboard micromanaging the preparations to make sure things went well. He should have known Harry would understand. A light game early in the day would be just the thing to take his mind off matters.

He opened his present and examined the vibrator as he prepared himself for its insertion. It was small, only four inches long and a little bigger around than his thumb, with a ball on the end that promised to make sitting down interesting. He admired the color, a pale purple that looked surprisingly good against his skin-tone, and made a mental note to find a shirt and a few ties in that shade, especially if it turned out Harry had picked it specifically. Gift secured, he re-dressed and headed to work, anticipation a low, pleasant thrum in his stomach.

In retrospect, he really should have remembered that Harry could be sweet, and he could be cheerful, but he was only both when he was about to be just _nasty._


	2. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dream a Little Dream of Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4T3tMkjRig) is sung by The Mamas & the Papas.

The first call came at ten-thirty, and Harry ignored it. John had lasted longer than he'd thought – he could see his little namesake in the playpen down the hall, and he knew how popular that button had been over the course of this babysitting gig – but it wasn't near long enough yet. At eleven the ringing was more persistent, but Harry had his hands full trying to pull lunch together for the massive Carpenter brood quickly enough for them to get to their afternoon activities on time and he let it go. John could damn well wait a little longer.

At twelve, when the feeding frenzy was over and Harry had counted his fingers – twice – to make sure the appropriate number were still there, the phone had taken on a desperate air, almost leaping for his hand as he finally took pity on his unhappy lover.

“Harry,” came the greeting, and Harry blinked at the ragged edge to the voice, heat suddenly coiling in his belly. He kept his own words light and unconcerned.

“John! Fancy hearing from you at this hour of the day! I thought you had some ritzy meeting scheduled that simply couldn't wait!”

“The Chairman and her staff will be here in less than half an hour. Harry, I need to be able concentrate on this. It's a major purchase that could net trillions in profits. I can't afford to be distracted.”

“That's right, the transaction-thingy with those computer-people. Wow, it sounds like a pretty important deal. Maybe you should be focusing on that right now instead of playing sexy-funtime games with me, Johnny.”

“That's what I – ”

“After all,” Harry interrupted smoothly, letting a just a little of that bite seep through that caught John's attention, and libido, without fail, “nearly anyone could tell you that mixing business and pleasure is a bad idea. It tends to detract from your attention to either, and ruin your efforts in both. That's a pretty amateur mistake for you to make, Johnny.”

John abruptly quieted, apparently having caught this time the use of his moniker, the one Harry only used when he was very unhappy indeed with his lover, and inclined to make him suffer hard and long for whatever he'd done wrong.

“This is about the phone call.”

“Don't be silly, Johnny. Of course it's not about the phone call. It's about the fact that you _took_ that call, informing me that it was about the meeting and therefore too important to wait a couple of hours while we finished our game or even dinner, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the night talking on it about lunch menus. And dinner menus. And hotel rooms. And tours. And flower arrangements. And any number of trivial details that could have been discussed later or delegated entirely. You were still yakking away when I gave up the ghost and went home to bed. Alone. On date night. So you tell me, Johnny, why _are_ you being punished? And do you or don't you deserve it?”

A long silence echoed down the phone line, broken only by John's occasional whimpers as Harry Carpenter's small, pudgy fingers found the magic button again and again. “Harry – ” the tone was pleading, but also decidedly guilty, and Harry interrupted again, almost certain now that, eventually, he  _would_ get an apology, and John would wholeheartedly mean it.

“Goodbye, John. Enjoy your lunch.” _Click._ Given how the next few hours were going to go, he probably wouldn't be repeating this mistake, either.

“Hey kiddo, you want another pixie stick?”

At roughly twelve-thirty the phone rang again – and again and again and again until Harry made it to the infernal machine from where he'd been washing dishes in the kitchen.

“You know John, if you're going to run up the Carpenters' phone bill like this you probably should offer them some kind of compensation. This is just thoughtless.”

“Harry. Harry. Please. I can't do it. I can't do- _ooo! Harry!”_ John sounded close to tears now. Harry was impressed. He could work all day to get results like these, and here they were in only three hours' time. Clearly his namesake had talent.

“Gee, you don't sound too good, John. I guess I can understand that; Little Harry's been going a bit stir-crazy since he had all that candy for after-lunch snack. He's figured out that playing with the dial makes more lights come on, too, the clever tyke.”

“ _Please,_ Harry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Ple- _hee-_ mng-ease!

“Your voice sounds a bit funny, John. Kind of echo-ey. Where are you?”

“B-bathroom. Down the hall, executive wash-oh!-washroom. It locks. Harry. Please, please, let me take it out, let me – _fuck!”_

“Fucking's not on the agenda right now John, although if I think you've learned your lesson I may nail you to the nearest flat surface later. If you're very good I might even let you come. Right now, though, I'm still a bit unhappy with you. I don't think you even quite get what you should be apologizing for. So I wouldn't count on achieving release any time soon.”

Quiet moans and breathless sobs were all the reply Harry received. They were all he needed, too. Still...

“Hey John? Would you do something for me?”

“Anything.” Harry smiled, touched as always by the unhesitating response, even when his lover was in the doghouse.

“Tell me what it looks like? I had to get somebody else to pick it up and drop it off with my note so I wouldn't break it by accident. What color is it?”

“Purple. It's p- _ah!_ -purple. It sti- _nnn_ -sticks out in a b-ball at the end so I can't sit without it pressin _nnng-oh-oh-oh!"_ John panted. "God, Harry, please, I can't ta- _ay, ah! Augh!_ Domine, _domine,_ da robur, fer auxilium.” Raising his voice, muttering prayers? He really must be in rough shape. Harry bit his lip, wanting to be there so badly he nearly swamped the signal with static.

“I wish I could see you,” he said, packing every bit of the wistful longing he was struggling with into his voice. “Check the mirror, tell me what you look like right now. Are you flushed all over yet? I bet your eyes are like little rings of jade around hard vacuum.”

“Yes. They – I – very thin. _Christ.”_

“Open your pants and give yourself a pull, John. Are you dripping? You sound like you're dripping.”

“Sss-some.” Harry Listened. Rustling cloth, a zip, and the sound of skin slapping on skin echoed across the line. A truly piteous whine nearly broke his resolve, but this whole thing was pointless if Harry made it too easy to obtain forgiveness. He couldn't let him off the hook yet, not if he wanted John to take this matter seriously.

“I missed you this morning. If you'd been there like you were supposed to I'd have woken you up with a blowjob, nice and wet and slow. I'd have sucked you down and swallowed your come for breakfast. Instead I had to make do with a poptart. There's just no justice in that, John. Let go and suck your fingers clean. How do you taste today?”

“Salty... I'm so sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry, please...”

“Not yet you aren't. Button up, Johnny. You've got some very important people to meet, and it wouldn't do to have your dick hanging out for that.”

This time when Harry hung up he bolted for the bathroom. Crime and punishment was all very well, but sometimes he worried about his reactions to John's distress. Admittedly, not for very long.

With his head cleared he reconsidered the conversation. John really had sounded well and truly miserable toward the end there. Maybe this little toy was more of a chink in the armor than Harry had anticipated. Perhaps... perhaps he should end things a bit sooner than he'd planned. It wasn't like John knew how long Harry intended him to squirm – he could stop by a little early.

About a quarter to two Harry sauntered up to one of John's boardrooms and did the courtesy of knocking before he strolled inside. The unfortunate people at the table seemed relieved by his appearance – most of them looked ready to bolt when he opened the door. He could see why, too. Silent as the grave, John's expression was in total lockdown, and his eyes bored into whoever he looked at with an intensity that could easily be mistaken for glaring. His whole body was taut and deathly still, except for a faint twitching in his jaw. The white-knuckled grip he had on the arms of his chair looked like it might evoke a groan or two, steel or no steel. Harry and Hendricks were probably the only people in the room who knew John well enough to correctly interpret that body language as being a hair away from shattering. To everyone else he looked furious. So when Harry cheerfully announced, “I'm here to rescue you! Go on, shoo. Your hotel rooms are all set up,” there wasn't one of them in earshot by the time he'd started the third sentence.

Hendricks leveled a speaking look in his direction as he left, locking the door behind him. Harry ignored it.

As soon as the door clicked shut John was off the chair, shaking on his hands and knees with his face buried in the carpet.

“Pliss. Sorry. Pliss f'give. Pliss,” he slurred, crawling to kneel shivering at Harry's feet.

“Pliss,” he sobbed, rubbing his cheek against worn boots like a cat, hiding his eyes in a nearby ankle. Harry knelt and lifted his lover's chin. Tears puddled and dripped in anguished lines down reddening cheeks. John hiccuped unhappily and Harry cursed silently. Two hours early and he'd still left it too long. He hadn't realized the little vibrator would have such a marked effect.

“I'm not going to get any sense out of you until that thing's out, am I?” he asked rhetorically, knowing the man before him was too far gone to answer intelligibly. “Alright then, take your pants off. Underwear too. And socks and shoes, babe, come on now. I want you bare from the waist down.”

John scrambled to obey, nearly ripping the items in his haste, looking to Harry for instruction when he was done. Harry knew he should just tell John to take it out, but he'd been half-hard before he even walked in the building, and seeing cool, suave Johnny Marcone groveling in such a state had, ah, solidified matters considerably. Besides, he still hadn't so much as caught a glimpse of his present.

“Fold them up – neatly – in front of you and plant your hands on the table there, legs spread so I can see the nice little giftie I sent you this morning. I've been looking forward to getting a good view.”

John moaned into the cool wood, ass stuck out like a stripper's, legs trembling in time with the buzzing lavender wand protruding from his hole. At irregular intervals the hum from the vibrations escalated or diminished or stopped altogether, only to start again without warning. Harry watched, fascinated, as John jerked and twitched and occasionally almost relaxed to the arrhythmic harmonics of a toddler's whimsy.

“Reach back with your right hand a play with it a bit,” he ordered hoarsely. “Be delicate; I don't want you interrupting my line-of-sight. Yeah, just like that, with two fingers. Pull it out a little and push it back in. Yesss, that's the way. More. Take it to the widest point, John, then twist it and jiggle it in circles.”

John's increasingly desperate cries had reached a fever pitch by the time Harry had his jeans down. If he didn't do something soon his lover would spill without permission simply because Harry had pushed him past his limits. That was an _interesting_ idea for another time, but the guy was already being punished for something else; better not to mix him up by complicating the matter while he was in this state of mind.

“ _Stop,”_ Harry commanded. John groaned wordlessly, wavering so close, so close … “Take it out the rest of the way and toss it on the floor by the big window in the corner. Take a couple of deep breaths, get yourself under control. Are you calmer?”

“Y's,” came the strained reply, so soft Harry almost missed it. The body hunched over the table shook violently, trying and failing to relax its muscles, pull back from the edge.

“Take a minute. Cool off. Do you need me to hold you?” A bowed head shook no, but since the electronic device was in a corner as far away as possible Harry approached anyway, smoothing his overlarge hand between quivering shoulder blades, stroking sweat-soaked, silvering hair back into place. He looked down and guffawed.

“Can't blame this one on me, babe, you ruined those all on your own.” John glared halfheartedly at the unbroken line of fluid oozing from his cock's head to the very expensive pants folded below it.

“Placement,” he grumbled without much bite. Harry shook his head, grinning madly.

“All I told you to do was put them in front of you. You're the one who opted for right below your feet instead of on the table. Messybritches,” he added playfully, gauging how much tension had leached from the muscles under his hand.

“Think you can talk now?” he asked carefully, relieved when damp curls bobbed in an indisputable nod. Gingerly he gathered the shuddering man closer, tucking him under his chin and wrapping him in his arms.

“Do you understand why you're in trouble yet? _Don't,”_ he added sharply, “guess if you aren't sure, Johnny, you won't like the consequences.” John's teeth clicked shut and he hesitated before simply shaking his head.

Harry sighed. “I kind of figured,” he admitted. “Neither of us is much good at working that sort of thing out on our own.” He buried his nose in mussed hair and inhaled appreciatively, taking in the scents of sweat and arousal and whatever designer-label shampoo it was that John used. How did he explain this?

“John,” he said quietly, “do you care about me more than the lives of your people?” John stiffened and tried to jerk away – Harry tightened his grip until he stopped struggling.

“That's not fair. You can't ask that of me. I have _responsibilities,_ Dresden!”

“You're right, I can't,” Harry said, hiding his flinch at the use of his last name. “And I don't. When you get a call that someone needs medical care or a rescue, it doesn't matter what we're doing; it stops while you take care of the problem, and if it doesn't get sorted fast enough to continue, it doesn't really matter, even if it's been months since our schedules coincided. Lives are more important than a few games in the bedroom.” He took a fortifying breath and looked down into impossibly green eyes.

“John,” he managed not to stutter, “do you care about me more than your money?”

John gaped. Harry forced himself to continue, overriding the voice in his head shrieking  _you don't want to know this, you don't ever want to hear this answer, don't give him the chance to say no, it could break you all over again._

“Because it wasn't me you chose last night. And I'm not coming in second to a bunch of colored paper. So if it's money that matters to you, you'd better tell me right now, because so help me Johnny – ” he was cut off by a pair of warm, salty lips.

“Harry, no. You are _not_ second to paper. I apologize if I gave that impression. I was eager to land this deal because it would be a major coup, financially – would have been, I suppose – and I am a businessman above all else – except 'yours'. I let my enthusiasm run away with me. Please forgive me.”

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat somehow and blinked away the sting blurring his vision. He really needed to get Butters to check him for allergies if he was going to hang around in John's boardrooms; clearly he was having a reaction to all the … wood. Yes.

“Okay,” he said, “forgiven.” He squeezed a little tighter for a second, just because he could. Then he spun John around and bent him over the table again.

“Now,” he declared, “I seem to recall vowing to nail you to the nearest flat surface. This one seems pretty near. Do you have any particular druthers between this or the walls? Ooh, or the windows. I'd love to see you spend yourself against a sixteenth story floor-to-ceiling window. Speak up, don't be shy. I promise to listen carefully to your preferences before I disregard them completely.”

John staggered under the assault.

“You, what - you – you walking _penis!_ Is that all you ever think about?”

“Screwing you stupid against high windows? Well, it takes up a fair portion of my attention, but every now and then I come up with a real gem,” Harry smiled wolfishly and slipped a couple of probing fingers into no-man's land, relishing the strangled squeal they elicited, “like torturing your hole for over four hours before I arrive to fuck your brains out.”

It didn't take long to push John straight to the brink again, and he kept him hovering there for a good half-hour before he deigned to plow him right into the table.  _And_ the window. And the wall. And the door, for good measure. Plus, with careful aim and dedicated precision-timing, he managed to ensure that John soiled his fancy trousers beyond any remotely salvageable state.

“I wouldn't worry too much about losing the big deal,” he murmured later into the not-quite-comatose ear caught between his lips. “You would have been cheated at best. Toot-toot overheard whatsherface arguing with the Treasurer. Apparently the company's in a lot more trouble than anyone's realized yet, and they haven't got the money it looks like they do. The word ruin was thrown about. I was planning to tell you after dinner last night.” To his delight, John barely paid attention to the revelation, instead narrowing his remaining concentration on Harry's nipples.

He'd bring it up again tomorrow, just so John wouldn't fret. For now, though, he basked in the certainty that he was the most important thing on John's mind.


End file.
